“But then how do we get at it?”
“This bloke told me that they can make some sort of investment in the UK that’s exempt from tax. He said there were a lot of Arab and Chinese syndicates operating in the property business in London. They even have some money invested in government projects. We can get the money whenever we want it. The bloke said it was called ‘round tripping’. He said they do it all the time.”
“But won’t they want some of it? I can’t see them doing all that for nothin’.”
“Course, no one ‘spects them to work for nothin’. They get 10% plus some costs. But don’t worry, there’ll be plenty left for us.”
The fact was that Joe was not entirely clear how it worked himself. He relied on his grip on Lord Farleigh’s friend to make the thing work. He also knew that this way, if anything happened to Bruce, there would be no link back to him. He would just deny everything that Bruce said. Meanwhile, he had plenty of gold and silver in the safe at his garage. If Bruce got caught and locked up, then so much the better, he would have it all to himself. On top of that, he had nearly 200,000 in the joint account. He rationalised that he had made all of the arrangements, so it was only fair.
“How long do you reckon it’ll be before all this is over and we can spend our money, Joe?”
“I reckon about twelve months, worse case. But then buddy boy, we’ll be in the clover.”
Joe had not realised that he had raised his voice to overcome the noise from the bar. He glanced at the two people who occupied the next booth.
“That bloody old couple are earwigging,” he whispered to Bruce.
“You’re getting as paranoid as me, Joe. That’s old Megan and her brother, Seth. She couldn’t hear you if you sat next to her and shouted in her ear. They come in here once a week just like clockwork. She does cleaning for people up in Lynton and he’s got a saddlery repair shop or something over near South Molton or Brayford or somewhere; cantankerous old bugger by all accounts.”
They drank up and then Joe drove them back up the steep winding road to Lynton. He bade Bruce farewell and reminded him to call when he had offloaded the Toyota and was ready to fly home. As he put his truck away he couldn’t resist taking another look in the safe. His future was all in one spot. Just like the blokes what stashed it away all those years ago, he thought. Poor sods. Wonder what happened to them? A bunch of bleached bones buried somewhere on the moor. He laughed at the thought. ‘Their loss is my bloody gain’, he muttered as he went to bed.
***
Cynthia hugged Katie and Ralph and Lance gave Kate a hug and clapped Ralph on the back as they prepared to go home. They said that the holiday had been just the tonic that they needed.
“We’ll expect to see you both at our housewarming party when you get back,” Cynthia called as they turned their car around and headed out.
Cynthia and Lance had sold their houseboat to a group of jazz musicians who wanted somewhere they could make noise and not get any complaints; the houseboat on the River Thames was ideal. After the sale had fallen through on the place at Clapham that they had originally thought would become their dream home, they had finally settled on one at Wimbledon Common. It was only a 10 minute drive to both Gypsy Hill and Dorich House.
Once they had waved their friends off, Ralph relaxed in front of the fire and thought about packing and heading back to work in just a few days’ time. It was a prospect that he would have looked forwards to only a few years ago. Now, as teaching was increasingly treated as a job rather than a vocation, it had lost some of its appeal. His reverie was interrupted by the phone ringing.
Katie called down from upstairs that she would get it. Ralph reached for his book. He figured that if it was one of Katie’s friends that she would be at least an hour. He was wrong.
“Ralph, that was Marian. She’s getting those blackmail threats again.” Katie came running down the stairs. ‘One hand for the ship and one for yourself’. The old sailor’s doggerel ran through his mind. “Don’t you realize that those stairs can be lethal?” He muttered as Katie flopped down in the chair opposite him.
“So what’s all that about Marian?” Ralph asked.”
“You’re never going to believe this. Marian got another call demanding money for the photos.”
“But if Kaminsky’s dead, that can’t be possible.”
“I know, but some weirdo must have seen the article in the paper and put two and two together.”
“Unless it’s a bluff. Was anything about the photos in the newspapers?”
“Evidently. She said that some reporter had been sniffing around the University and someone must have said something about her and Daniel Kaminsky.”
“Putting the boot in is more like it. Either someone doesn’t like her, or else they’re holding a grudge of some sort.”
“Who would do that, Ralph?”
He paused a moment before he replied. “I need to go to Brayford again. If it’s someone in the village, then the only person who knew anything about the photos would be Ann Bishop. You remember, she’s the woman that the newsreader said had identified Daniel’s body; probably an old girlfriend; a women scorned, as they say.”
“That’ a typical chauvinist remark, Ralph. It could have been anyone. Whoever it is, Marian sounded pretty upset because her fiancé knows that she had an affair.”
“An alcohol induced fling.”
“Whatever you want to call it, he’ll have
